My oldest daughter nursed until age five. My youngest is still nursing at age one. If she nurses as long as my oldest did, I will have been nursing for a solid decade with no interruptions. This wasn’t my plan. I’m loving every minute of it.

Anyone who has nursed a child or infant can tell you that nursing is often about much more than nutrition. It is a way to connect, to be present, to soothe. In infancy it completely meets a baby’s need for nourishment. But what about for an older child? What about a two year old? A five year old? Clearly the older child is most likely getting the bulk of their nourishment somewhere else. They are eating solid foods and daily gaining skill and developing their tastebuds.

So if nursing the older infant and child isn’t about nutrition, why did I choose to do it? Well, for me it was partly because I could (after having struggled with supply issues), partly because the reading I did pointed to continued health and social benefits, and partly because it was a facet of our relationship that was mutually enjoyable. Nursing is a relationship. Just like any other relationship, it takes two. Also, like any other relationship, if one party just isn’t that into it anymore it might well be time to re-evaluate. But you didn’t need me to tell you that. I checked my feelings about nursing at many points along the road, and was often surprised to find that I was happy to just keep on.

Our nursing story began in infancy, as most do. Before E. was born I attended classes and read books. I contacted my local breastfeeding support group. I felt prepared and excited. My mom nursed my little brother until he was a little over a year old, and it was an experience that she really enjoyed. I was looking forward to following in her footsteps and nursing my own children.

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I was surprised and upset when my supply wasn’t adequate. My reading and preparation didn’t really prepare me the way I thought it would. On day two home from the hospital E. went all night without wetting a diaper. I suspected dehydration. The doctor on call confirmed my suspicions; I would need to start supplementing. I was sad, but also determined. I wanted to continue to breastfeed. Those first months were tough. The endless rounds of bottles/nursing/pumping and nursing/bottles/pumping exhausted me and made me question what on earth I thought I was doing. When friends and even sometimes strangers urged me to quit (because, yes, I admit that I may have complained) I gritted my teeth, steeled my resolve, plugged in the pump, and kept right on.

This triumvirate of pump, bottles, and breast followed us for the entirety of E’s first year. When she turned one it followed us a little longer. E was not a fan of solids. She liked yogurt. That was about it. It seemed wise to continue both the nursing and supplementation, at least for a while.

I second guessed myself all the time. It was hard to trust my supply, which had proved over and over that it was quite modest at best. One day I just did it; I just fed her, let her eat what she would eat, and we nursed. I felt euphoric when no one died and the world didn’t end. I felt so good that now I had enough, and the euphoria, I’m sure, coasted me right through to the beginning of her second year. I was finally experiencing the sort of casual, easy style of nursing that I had so looked forward to. For me, nursing a child during toddlerhood was fantastic. I wasn’t worried about how much she was getting. I wasn’t worried about how often. I wasn’t worried about leaking all over my clothes in public. Not about mastitis or clogged ducts… when she wanted it, it was there, and when she didn’t? Well, she was growing and we were having fun. It was like a belated nursing honeymoon.

Around age two I started doing some reading. I would say as an extended nurser I’ve received far more positive comments and interactions than negative, but I wanted to know more about what I was choosing to do before I committed. I was well aware that I was soon to be venturing further and further from cultural norms, and when that happens I like facts. My research indicated that there was nothing wrong with continuing to nurse. I felt there might even be some potential benefits for my daughter.

When she got older, it seemed a shame to stop. She was still enjoying nursing, and so was I. It was a way to connect and re-affirm the love we had for one another in a very simple way. Nursing was food, it was comfort, it was “good morning, I’m so glad to see you,” and “I’m not too busy for a quick snuggle right now.” It was “good night, I love you,” and “don’t cry, it’ll be alright.” We said so much during those times, not even using words. How could I abandon this age-old language that spoke so well?

So when she got to be 3? 4? 5? She was still my baby. By then I had done lots of reading and decided that I wanted her to be able to choose for herself when to wean. Was I scared when she told me she’d still be stopping by to nurse after she was married? Sure, a little. But I also knew that the statistics spoke loudly, and that the likelihood of that was almost none.

When I was pregnant again, she told me that my milk had stopped, but that she wanted to nurse anyway. I told her that it was okay. She could nurse until she discovered she didn’t need to. The closer it came to being time for baby to be born, the more she seemed interested in separating herself from the baby. In being big. Grown up. She decided she wanted to wean, so she stopped nursing. Then she would have a bad dream, and would nurse again. I was mentally preparing myself to tandem nurse, and talking often with friends who had done it themselves.

This went on for several months. I remember reading in all of my research that when you allow a child to self-wean, it is very easy to forget the very last time because the transition is so gentle and silent. One day they nurse at bedtime, and that is the last time. It passes without fanfare or ceremony and becomes another part of childhood outgrown. Determined not to miss it, I tried to catalog every nursing session as a potential last. In the end, I can’t pinpoint the exact day or time. It was as unobtrusive as the way she outgrows her clothes; the way they one day fit, and the next she seems to be all exposed ankles and wrists, and you want to blame the dryer but know you can’t. She had grown. It was just as wonderful and poignant as I had always thought it would be.

Weaning part 4 of 13

1. A slow wean by mrs. tictactoe
2. My Breastfeeding Adventure by Mrs. Tea
3. The End of an Era: My Decision to Wean by Mrs. Confetti
4. Nursing Beyond the Second Year by Mrs. Twine
5. Our Adventures in Weaning by Mrs. Train
6. Weaning. by Mrs. Makeup
7. Weaning: Our journey by Mrs. Yoyo
8. Smile because it happened... by Mrs. Pen
9. Why I Want to Wean... and Why I Don't Want to Wean by Mrs. Bee
10. Adventures in Weaning by Mrs. Bee
11. Olive is Weaned. by Mrs. Bee
12. Weaning at Two by Mrs. Stroller
13. Weaning at 18 months by Mrs. Deer